


Me and You

by Bone Δaddy (NadaCitizen)



Series: Involving Sans [3]
Category: Undertale, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, F/M, Lemon, M/M, NSFW, Other, Undertail, breath play, super fresh bone puns, you give sans a bad time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaCitizen/pseuds/Bone%20%CE%94addy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Straight up sub!Sans x unspecifiedgender!Reader PWP. Sans lets Reader control him with his own powers. Asphyxiation, mild bdsm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me and You

Sans kneels in front of you, wrists bound by electric blue rings behind his back as he stares into your glowing eyes. You just started; his face is unwavering, only his mouth worthy of any description—and even then, it’s just a smirk.

He doesn’t know what’s coming to him.

Sans trusts you, but beads of sweat dot at his forehead; never has he suspended his powers to anyone. And here you stand, cyan wisps blazing from your eye as your soul submerges itself in Sans’ magic as though it belonged to you all along. 

“Do you want to have a bad time, Sans?” You laugh. Kinda softly, kinda not. Neither of you is sure what prompted it, but the skeleton blushes nonetheless, subtly averting his gaze. 

“Oh, no. You’re gonna look at me.” You consider summoning a cast to adjust his gaze for you, but decide against it. You want to do it yourself—so you reach down, hooking your thumb inside his jaw and jerking his mandible back so you look him can in the eye. The hues of blue burn brighter beneath his cheekbones as he struggles to maintain eye contact; he’s not used to having his teeth touched, but you don’t really care. “Feeling okay there? You’re a little quiet.”

Weakly, he tries to replicate one of his smiles, but he’s quickly becoming overstimulated. “It’s, uh…*Mandible*. Nothin’ to worry about.”

Cute. He parts his mouth, shuffling and rolling his shoulders back as you glaze your thumb along his canines, small and thick, but pointed *just* enough for them to be considered fangs. There’s no way to hide the cheeky grin beaming on your face; you relish in the fact that no one else gets to know. He only opens his mouth for you. Still, you can tell he’s holding back. A little blushing, sweating; that’s nothing. You want to *hear* him. 

So the time strikes you as the right one to ask if he fulfilled the agreement you made this morning. Extending your arm, you cup your hand as though you’re lifting Sans up by the shirt—and the magic does the rest. The skeleton begins to hover several feet in the air, kneeling still. With a wink, the cast holds him in place and your impatient hands stroke his pelvis through his basketball shorts. Chills vibrate through him, and you smile sweetly: “Tell me. Did you wear it?”

Sans smiles back, but now it’s capriciousness laced with unease. It won’t be long now before his nonchalance wavers, you decide. He nods, pinching the waistband of his basketball shorts with two hands. You raise your brows, waiting, and he finally drags them to his knees; being in the air, however, they just fall onto the floor anyway. “Heh. Yeah. I’m not big on promises, but uh… I figured it wouldn’t hurt to *skull* it over.”

You roll your eyes, but appreciate the joke anyway. Then you step forward, eyes flashing between his sockets and the black panties trimmed with cyan. ‘Bone Me’ is inscribed on the front. Funny. Walking your fingertips along the delicately raised lettering, you give Sans the tiniest grin before sliding your hand past the lace, just *barely* circling a digit around the superior and inferior ramus bones that made up the cute little circles at the bottom of his pelvis. This time, he audibly gasps, covering his mouth once you glide your hand through the pelvis’ center to grab his coccyx. You take a minute, exerting a little less caution and a little more force as you grab the base of his spine, tightening your grip as you pump up and down.

You can’t help but blush yourself. The surface is smooth, yet it’s not, like unfinished wood. It’s surprisingly easy to grip in between the lifted ridges of the bone, so you do, and chuckle when Sans jerks his hips at your touch. You repeat, and so does he, so you take his pelvic bone in both hands and you make the magic hold him in place by the ribs. 

Feeling just the slightest bit merciful, you lower your head, pressing your lips to the front of the fabric. Sans moans, unintentionally, and tries to speak as though he means to save face—but you use your mind to have the glowing hands caress his upper spine and collarbones, rubbing and squeezing and scratching every inch of bone they came into contact.

He opens his mouth, and you just *know* his tongue would loll out of it if he had the magic to do so. Instead, he sighs loudly, furrowing his brows as he curls his toes, shaking from the center of his spine downward since that’s all he really manage.

“Mmnnn…” There we go. You kiss him in the same place before stepping backwards and watching his eyes widen. The first signs of desperation crawl make their appearance on his face. You decide to mess with him.

“Sans…what would you do if I just walked out? Right now? Left you hanging.” *Quite literally*.

His mouth scrunches up as though he’s biting the inside of an imaginary cheek. “Uh…I’d hope you wouldn’t. Hear me out, I know I put off a lot things, but…this is something I’d rather not *postbone*, if you know what I mean.”

Bad jokes aside, it’s just where you want him. He’s not in a position to call your bluff, and his easygoing smirk wavers into something a little needier by the second. You touch a hand to your heart, smiling gently at the shaking mess in front of you. “Ah. There, there. You don’t look so good. I won’t give you a hard time, Sans. You know what I will give you, though?”

He barely looks at you, still catching his breath. Curiosity kept his eyes alive, though, and he raises his brows in response to your question.

“A little tough love.”

You swing your entire arm sharply out to your right, commanding the magic. The casts follow it to the wall, throwing Sans along with it. The power rushes through you, likes thousands of hot, tiny needles, puncturing you if you stay still too long. It’s exciting, and you chuckle, cupping your hand as though you hold the other’s tangible soul in it.

Whoosh. Whirr. Up and down you flick your wrist, slamming Sans into the mattress by the pelvis over and over again until you hear the smallest whimper escape him. 

“Hmm?”

You approach the bed with hooded eyes, dropping your arms to your side to analyze him. He’s shiny with sweat and struggling with the magical binding –wanting to sit up, you guess—but it’s clear he’s bedbound. Once you’re near, he stops, just looking at you. Flustered. Needy. “You liked that, huh?”

He hesitates to respond, but eventually gives in. “You could say I like *tibia*…thrown around a little, I guess.”

Amused by the answer, you raise your eyebrows and flick your wrist upward, shooting Sans into the air. An outline of electric blue surrounds him, and you see him grin guiltily as wisps of magic freely flow inside his chest and swirl around his thighs. They then solidify, as though they’re holding the comic into place before throwing him against the mattress at your discretion. The sound bounces off the walls, echoing from the sheer force, but fuck it, you decide, you’re going to keep going. Like a symphony conductor, you direct his soul even harder into the bed, the springs complaining underneath him. As you prepare to do it again, you chuckle, the power lust intoxicating you before you…

You sneeze.

And in the millisecond it took, while your eyes were closed, Sans is slammed into nearest wall, moaning in what you assume to be pain. “Oh my god…” 

Before you can approach him, however, he raises a hand and gives you a thumbs-up. You figure you probably shouldn’t have expected anything different, and lead his soul back to the bed. This time, rather than throwing him, you just drop him and he bounces against the mattress until gravity puts him back in place. A few scrapes decorate his mouth and cheekbones, but he’s smiling anyway, breathing deeply.

“That expression you’re wearing…” You say it out loud, taking a seat beside him; Sans tenses, shamelessly lifting up his hips. Barely, you trace your hand along the cold bone. The sigh he makes forces you to bite your lip; his eyes roll back and he shivers, trying to compose himself. Your hands feel much different than the ecto-magic. You lean forward with your fingers wrapped around the center of his spine, grip so tight you feel like you could snap the vertebrae at any second. His vulnerability resonates deliciously with you. “You’re really kind of a freak, huh? That’s funny. Damn near *clavicle*.”

He blushes.

~~~

Heat floods the room, and you decide it’s time to shed your shirt. With a smirk, you snatch the hemline and lift it up, throwing the apparel over your head. Sans looks, mouth parted as he flickers his eyes between your face --out of respect and submission-- and your chest --out of desire and self-indulgence. It doesn’t really matter, you decide, as you grab his wrist and make him touch you anyway, starting from your collarbone and gliding his fingertips down to your naval.

His hand is cold against your skin, and you fight back a pleased sigh. Sans just blushes, not moving it one way or the other. Chewing the inside of your lip, you keep guiding it, leading him to your inner thigh—and at this point, Sans’ pillow is visibly wet, sweat dripping freely down the sides of his skull as his blush melts into a shade of indigo new to you. Nice. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you look down at him. “You like that?” 

He nods. You shift his hand to press his palm against your zipper, and you smile as he shuts his eyes, spreading his fingers apart to cover as much area as he can before you use your borrowed powers to glue his wrists to the sheets, placed on either side of his head. “That’s too bad.” 

“Ah…” He mumbles, eyes half-lidded. With your own hands free, you cup either side of his skull, leaning down to press your lips up against his mouth. It’s also smooth—too smooth. There nothing to bite, to suck, nothing. So you’re forced to keep it surface-level, but Sans parts his mouth anyway, blushing and angling his head in appreciation for the effort.

But you’re not one to waste time. You consider making a joke about ‘what that mouth do’, but decide to choke him instead. Without warning, you move your hand away from his cheek just to snatch his neck, squeezing tightly as you push him into the pillow and fix your posture. He flexes his fingers, wrists still bound to the mattress, but lifts his hips up anyway, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. Throwing his neck back, his mouth parts in agony, but his eyes shine like stars, begging you to keep it up. You straddle him, rocking on top of his hips until the skeleton is literally blue in the face. You let go.

“Hhh…” You now get comfortable, smirking as Sans pants beneath you. All that composure he had was gone, and you had no intention of inviting it back. 

You peck his forehead, and although he’s still catching his breath, he blushes at the gesture until he hears the *riiiiiip* of delicate material, and sure enough the ecto-hands have tossed the black panties to the floor. Impractical, perhaps, but time-saving. Sans shivers, now hyper-aware of everything you do. 

Fair enough. Without missing a beat, you slap a hand against the middle of Sans’ torso, quickly working your way back up to his throat until it’s wedged beneath your grip again. Shutting his eyes, and mouth open wide, he squirms, rolling his hips underneath you as you use your spare hand to hold down the center of his spine. Reluctantly, you blush in return, but drag your hips against his pelvis again, the rough material of your jeans seeming to get him off even *more* as he lie there, open. 

And while you fit perfectly in the slight curve of his pelvis, you summon extra hands to help you anyway, leading them Sans’ pelvic outline, coccyx, and anywhere else you couldn’t immediately reach with your own hips bouncing forward and back against the comic. 

Somehow, even without air, he chokes out a moan, low but loud as he grips fistfuls of sheets in his hands. You let go of his neck for just a minute, grabbing at his clavicle instead as you resume riding him out dry. He can’t full find words to say, but you smile anyway at whatever sinful sounds he manages.

“Mm…” Just as you prepare to squeeze his neck again, he throws his hips against you and cries out your name, quiet, low, and unexpected. Clearly he wants to hide his mouth, shaking, but your restraints don’t allow it, so you lower your eyes as his roll back, sweat flowing freely from the sides of his head. 

Just his unsteady breaths fill the room, and you let your body go limp as Sans shuts his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh, idk much about skeleton anatomy or how this is supposed to work. any commentary would be A++


End file.
